It's Elementary, My Dear Thranduil
by KayeHerl
Summary: A murder mystery in the elven city of Imladris featuring our two favorite male elf leaders: Thranduil and Elrond. Rated M for adult themes (read: smut) and violence. M/M pairing, do not read if you don't like slash.
1. Chapter 1

It's Elementary, My Dear Thranduil

My craziness and I decided to write a murder mystery that takes place in Middle Earth with our two favorite elven leaders: Thranduil and Elrond. Now, this has absolutely nothing to do with Sherlock, it just seemed like a good title. There's going to be a lot of smut and mystery and maybe some humor if I can manage it.

This is completely AU and way before the Hobbit or LoTR but after both of their spouses left, but I'll try to keep everyone in character. However, this is an attempted comedy, so it may be a bit hard. Eh, I'll try.

So, without further ado, enjoy!

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Trip to Imladris, Concerning a Misplaced Head

It was quite by mistake that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, agreed to send fifteen hundred of his best jewels to Erobor. The dwarf had been laboring on and on, dragging the speech out that he had prepared to give Thranduil, who had stopped listening about five minutes in.

The whole court had gone silent as Thranduil had started out of his thoughts and looked down at the expectant dwarf. Thranduil could hardly see the dwarf's face beyond all of that accursed hair. _I wonder if it itches,_ Thranduil mused. "Fine," he said out loud.

There were intakes of breath from everyone, and Thranduil looked around. His advisors were staring at him as if he had grown another head. He raised an eyebrow at them, but inwardly, he was panicking. What in Eru Iluvitar had he just promised these greedy, short and all too annoying dwarves? "Go fetch the…"

"Gems, milord?" Algaron asked meekly.

"Aye, the gems." Oh, Eru, he'd promised them gems. Thranduil had the urge to bury his face in his hands, but resisted the urge.

The dwarf bowed deeply. "You are indeed generous, King Thranduil. Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Thranduil said, standing up and casting his outer cloak off with a flurry of brilliant red silk. "If you will excuse me, I will go oversee the transport of the gems from our stores." He quickly walked down his throne, cursing the length of his robes—yet again—as he nearly fell. The dwarves were still kneeling and had their heads bowed—thank the Valar, but he grimaced all the same and quickly fled to the vault.

"How many gems did I promise him?" he asked one of his advisors in a low undertone as they followed him. The dark-haired elf looked pale.

"Fifteen hundred of the gems of pure starlight."

Thranduil stopped dead and he felt two of his advisors smoothly step out of the way in order to refrain from running straight into their king's back. "Fifteen hundred?" he asked. Thranduil put a hand to his head and sighed. He should have listened, but the dwarf was just so _boring. _"Very well, put them in a chest and have them delivered to the dwarf."

His advisors nodded as one and continued onto the vault. Thranduil sighed and turned the other way to go to his quarters. It was rude to leave the dwarf king, but he truly needed a break.

_Can this day get any better?_

_00800_

As it turns out, it could.

Thranduil was not expecting the body to fall upon him when he opened his door. In fact, he thought, wiping the blood off of his shoulder after starting and making a racket in which he knocked several vases off of their shelf, no one should have to expect to have a body drop on them.

The guards came running as Thranduil toed the body over with one foot, careful to keep his silken slipper from soaking up any of the blood. It was headless and dressed in fine robes. Not one of his guards, then. He frowned and turned to the two guards who had rushed in, swords drawn.

The dark-haired elf to his right made a noise of surprise. "My Lord Thranduil, are you alright?" The other crouched beside the body and poked at it.

"Lovely," Thranduil replied saucily. "Where's Algaron?" He began unclasping his outer robe.

"Here, My Lord." His personal assistant and advisor skittered to a halt before him, bowing his head. "What do you need?"

"Take this to the laundry, see if they can get the blood out. I am rather fond of this. Oh, and see if you can find a head." He motioned to the body. "I assume that this elf was not like this when he entered my room."

"Yes, My Lord," Algaron said, bowing once more, and running quickly down the hall. The elf was shorter than Thranduil, but then many elves were shorter than the elf king. He had hair that was as light as Thranduil's and striking green eyes. It had been those sharp eyes and quick tongue that had first brought Algaron to Thranduil's attention. He had been a noble servant once for one of Thranduil's distant relatives. Thranduil had told Alagron that he could make him a better deal, and the elf had stayed with him as his personal assistant and advisor for several hundred years since.

"Search for the head," Thranduil said as he strode further into his chambers. He made for his wardrobe and opened it. Most would gaze upon his lavish wardrobe and either scoff at the extensiveness or stare in awe. Yards and yards of indulgent fabric graced the King's wardrobe, but Thranduil was more than used to the sight and simply stared at it until he fancied one above the others. He pulled out a black tunic—_maybe the blood won't stain this as badly_—and threw it on.

As he turned, he saw it. He sighed again and went to the door.

"Never mind," he called into the other room. "I have found the head." It was positioned at the head of his bed, dripping blood onto his pillows and blankets. The guards rushed into the room and looked at the head with distaste.

Thranduil carefully walked over to his bed, careful to avoid the ribbons of blood that had collected on the floor. The elf had dark hair and was wearing a circlet that was far too plain for his court. "An elf of Imladris." That would explain the fine robes, as well. Elrond did not require his guards to be in uniform all the time, as Thranduil did.

Elrond. The Lord of Imladris was a fair and just leader, or so everyone said. They spoke of his kindness to all elves. He even had a tolerance for dwarves, which was a true mark of patience and goodwill, Thranduil thought acidly. He personally thought that Elrond was soft and foolish, but he did not speak ill of the elf. It would make him seem petty, and many elves already saw him as that. "What will you have us do, My Lord?" one of guards asked.

Thranduil sighed. He was truly too tired for this, but Elrond would be missing his lovely plaything. "Put the head in a sack," he instructed. He smiled wickedly. "And ready my horse. I am sure that Elrond is missing his elfling."

00800

Elrond let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. It had been a long day, full of political debating and compromising, and he was ready for a long night of sleep.

Just his luck that the King of Mirkwood chose that moment to impose on him. "My Lord," Lindir called, running up the terraced steps. "A great company of elves is approaching Imladris's gate." Elrond looked up from his hand and blinked several times.

"What? Now?"

Lindir looked at a loss for words. "He's demanding to see you immediately; he says he has something that you need to see."

"He? Who is he?"

"King Thranduil, My Lord."

Elrond sighed internally and slumped. It had been decades since had had to deal with the elf king of the Mirkwood forest, and he would gladly wait a few more ages before he had to deal with him again. "Tell him I'll be down in a moment."

Lindir nodded and bowed quickly, before running back down the steps. Elrond sighed once more and stood up, following his advisor down the stairs at a much slower pace. He needed to firm his resolve and tap into his limited stream of patience before he dealt with Thranduil.

_Please, don't make me bite his head off, _he prayed to whomever would listen.

Elrond was, as he always found himself to be, stricken with how _pretty_ Thranduil was. It wasn't handsome, it wasn't even fair of face. It was pretty. In his sweeping black robes with his hawthorn crown perched on his head and those damned eyebrows and blond hair, he looked like a fallen god, one of beauty or grace.

That was, of course, before he opened his mouth. "Lord Elrond," he said, dismounting his caribou-moose (AN: what the hell is the thing that Thranduil rides?) in one smooth movement. "Well met. You look as if you could use some rest."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. Yes, same Thranduil. "And you look as if you have been dragged through the forest," he quipped, knowing that it would get to Thranduil.

"Because I have, old man," the king shot back lazily. Thranduil was carrying something in a sack. Something that had stained the fabric dark and that looked suspiciously like blood.

"As much as I enjoy your company," Elrond said, keeping his voice painstakingly polite, "you must have a reason to come to Imladris outside of insulting me."

"Aye." Thranduil shoved the sack at Elrond. "I believe this belongs to you."

"What is it?" Elrond asked, looking up at the king, who gave him a pointed look. Elrond sighed inwardly and opened the sack.

"Oh," he said, for that was the only word that came to mind. The tangle of hair matted with blood was completely unexpected, and he lost his train of thought for several heartbeats. When he caught it again, he looked up at Thranduil. "As much as I appreciate this unexpected gift, might I ask why you are giving it to me?"

"It's one of your advisors," Thranduil snapped.

Elrond frowned and pulled the head from the bag and blinked a few times. "Indeed," he said. "He was supposed to be back this evening from going to visit his mother. I presume you had a reason to kill him," Elrond said mildly, looking up at the king.

"I didn't kill him," Thranduil scoffed. "You wound me with your lack of belief in my intelligence." He gave Elrond a saccharine sweet smile and turned to mount once more.

"Wait," Elrond said. He nearly died inside as he said the next words, but the king would be expecting it, and Elrond knew that he could not turn him away without a bed for the night. He had a reputation to upkeep, after all. "We appreciate the…safe return of my advisor's head. Please join me in feast and rest here for the night."

Thranduil looked down at him, blue eyes glittering like blades. "Why, you have not changed a bit, Elrond." He dismounted once more and nodded to his advisor, Algaron. The elf bowed and took his steed away to the stables. The other elves dismounted and began making their way there as well. Elrond watched them go with yet another inwardly sigh. _The guest rooms have not been touched for months. There's probably leaves on the floor and spiders in the beds. _Before Thranduil came into earshot, Elrond turned to Lindir, who had appeared by his side a few moments before. "Get someone to go prepare the guest rooms. I'll hold them out here as long as possible, but hurry."

Lindir nodded and ran off. Thranduil looked after him and opened his mouth to say something, but Elrond cut him off.

"The dinner will be served shortly. Can I tempt you with a glass of our finest wine?"

"Aye," Thranduil said. "I could much use a glass of wine," he muttered as he passed Elrond. He walked up a few steps and then looked back—down—upon Elrond, who felt immensely irked to find the king looking down upon his in his own domain. Not that much could be done about that; Thranduil was taller than him. He walked up the few steps that separated him from the king and paused, turning to look over at him. Thranduil was much closer than he planned, and he looked straight up into those sharp eyes and. Just. Stopped.

It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He stood there like an idiot in complete silence for several moments before dragging himself away from Thranduil's captivating gaze. "Follow me," he said, and felt very achieved when his voice didn't quaver.

He would not fall for the King of Mirkwood, Elrond told himself firmly. He had lost Celebrian to the Undying Lands only decades ago, and his heart still ached for her in the wee hours of the morning.

And it didn't even have to be that. The elf king was so _infuriating_. It drove Elrond to near madness to have to keep a civil tongue with Thranduil. He would not feel anything for him. He refused to. It had been the long day that had provoked such a reaction, nothing more.

It was a nice, pretty lie that Elrond was all too happy to believe in.

00800

Thranduil was having a jolly time making Elrond disgruntled as they sat at the terraced dining pavilion. It was quite easy and quite amusing to see the elf lord attempt to keep his cool as Thranduil insulted him. It was even more fun when he made jabs back at Thranduil, even if they were presented with a stoic face. Thranduil had the distinct impression that Elrond was snarling at him under that blank mask of civility.

The wine probably didn't help Thranduil's sour mood, and Elrond had drank more than a few glasses after the first ten minutes.

"What was one of your advisors doing in Mirkwood?" Thranduil asked after a lull of silence.

Elrond looked over at him, obviously not expecting the change in subject. Thranduil smiled sweetly and Elrond scowled. "I know not."

"Spies are very dangerous creatures," Thranduil mused. Elrond started.

"Surely you do not presume…"

"Of course not, my dear Elrond." Thranduil said silkily. "I was merely noting that spies are very dangerous creatures and they should be dealt with immediately."

_He really is going to kill me,_ Elrond moaned internally. _That or I'll kill him. _"Are you certain you did not kill him?" he asked instead.

"Yes, I am certain. I know when I sheathe my sword and when I slice heads off with it," Thranduil noted. "Or do you think me incapable of handling a sword?"

_Yes, I do,_ Elrond wanted to say. He refrained. "I have seen your skills with a blade, King Thranduil."

By the Valar, this elf was tougher than most, Thranduil had to admit. Most elves who had the position to be his equal would have thrown something at him by now. _Ever patient Elrond,_ Thranduil thought. _I will get him to snap at me. Or throw something at me_. It was a strange mood indeed that Thranduil was in, but he could not shake it.

Just as Thranduil was devising how exactly he was going to get the dark-haired elf lord to show his true emotions, Elrond's assistant stopped beside him. "The rooms are ready, milord," he murmured, just loud enough for Thranduil to hear. Thranduil hid a smile. That was why the elf was tolerating Thranduil's presence. So that the guest rooms would be inhabitable.

He stood and smoothed his hands languidly down the front of his robe. "I believe I shall retire to my room you so kindly prepared, Lindir."

Elrond looked between Lindir and Thranduil for a few moments. He couldn't keep Thranduil any longer if the rooms were ready, and he would be more than happy to let the elf king leave. Yet…

"Lindir, please show Thranduil to his room and then come to me. I have matters to discuss with you."

Thranduil smiled at Elrond's deliberate exclusion of his title. "There is no need, _Elrond._ I am sure that I can find my way. My memory has not failed me. Unless your guest rooms have begun moving around, I will manage."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I must insist. Would you rather I escort you myself?"

Thranduil was tempted, oh so tempted, to irritate Elrond further by taking him up on his offer, but he shook his head. "Thank you for the escort, Lindir. And le hannon, Lord Elrond." He gave the Lord a small bow of the head and followed Lindir down the path. He had some snooping to do.

Elrond sank into the seat at his study and let out the sigh that had been begging for escape all night. By the Valar, why did Thranduil have to be so _irritating_? He took a sheet of parchment out and dipped his quill in the ink that was waiting on his desk and began writing a letter to the dead elf's mother. He needed answers as to where the elf had been, and why he had been in Mirkwood.

This day had been far too long for Elrond's liking, and too full of unneeded excitement. A raven flew into the room at Elrond's call. He tied the letter to the foot of the bird and sent it with a few directions muttered in Sindarin before sending it on its way. The bird squawked and flew out of the window with a huff, as if it was a trouble to take the letter. Elrond nearly rolled his eyes; was everything to act like Thranduil tonight, overdramatic and against Elrond?

Speaking of which, where in the name of Eru was Lindir? He should have come back by now. Elrond stood and paced his study a few times before deciding that it would be best to find his advisor. He was probably being tortured by Thranduil, made to help him choose what he should sleep in and turn down the bed just the way Thranduil liked it. Just to keep him from coming to Elrond's study, as he was supposed to after escorting Thranduil to his room.

Elrond wouldn't put it past the conniving, absolutely infuriating elf.

With a grim nod to himself, Elrond went in search of Lindir.

00800

Thranduil was, indeed making Lindir turn his bed down. "No, not like that," he said. "A little more. _Fluff _it for Valar's sake, or else it looks like a limp leaf." Lindir quickly obeyed and Thranduil smiled. Elrond had his little pet trained very well. He was covering his exasperation almost as well as Elrond himself. "Now, that pillow is crooked."

Thranduil turned around and surveyed the room. The evidence of the quick cleanup was very noticeable, but it was still nice. For a room of Imladris. It was rather plain, too plain for Thranduil's liking.

"Tell me, Lindir," Thranduil said. The elf looked up, as if surprised that Thranduil had remembered his name. "Does Elrond not have any decorations? Jewels?"

Lindir frowned. "No, My Lord. We have a modest amount of jewels, but Elrond does not display them."

"A pity your lord is so stingy. Jewels are meant to be displayed. Have you ever seen the halls of my kingdom?" Lindir shook his head and looked back down, working to rearrange the pillows.

_Perhaps I could take what is Elrond's. Maybe that would bother him... _Thranduil began stalking towards Lindir, much as a predator hunts its prey. Lindir looked up once again, as if sensing the shift of the tension in the air as Thranduil focused all of his attention on him. He stiffened, and looked towards the door. "The jewels of my palace are everywhere," he said, blocking Lindir's only way of escape. The dark-haired elf swallowed and seemed to shrink back as Thranduil came even closer.

"Everywhere?" Lindir asked. His voice was surprisingly calm for the situation, and Thranduil scowled. He wanted to hear the elfling's voice tremble like a leaf in the wind as he stalked towards him.

"Aye. Everywhere. In every imaginable place." Lindir had turned with him, keeping Thranduil in sight as he stalked around him. Thranduil struck quickly, pushing the elf against the bed. Lindir flinched and turned his face away, but not before Thranduil saw the spark of fear in his eyes.

"My Lord," he began. "I must return to Lord Elrond. Please let me go to him." His voice was still incredibly steady.

Thranduil put a finger underneath Lindir's chin and drew his head towards him. The elf's eyes stayed focused on the far side of the room. "You would make a nice addition to my pretty jewels." Lindir did not react in any way. "Look at me," Thranduil snapped. Lindir's eyes flickered and then met Thranduil's. The fear that he was trying to mask exhilarated Thranduil. It was not in Lindir's power to deny him anything that he could possibly want, and he could take it all.

He pushed the elf to the bed and leaned over him. "My Lord," Lindir said again, this time a bit more frantically. Thranduil smirked and climbed onto the bed, straddling the elf's legs.

"Shush," he said, trailing one finger down Lindir's face. "Be a good pet." If only this were Elrond that he was on top of, straddling. He would come willingly to Thranduil's bed, beg for Thranduil's touch, those perfect lips parted in pure ecstasy—Thranduil stopped as his fingers slipped under the elf's tunic, unclasping the first few clasps, displaying moonlight pale skin. Had he seriously just considered fantasizing about Elrond underneath him?

Thranduil pulled back with disgust. The elf was infuriating and dull as politics, no fun at all. Why would he want him? He was just about tell Lindir to leave when a dagger lodged itself in the bedpost next to Thranduil.

The elf king leapt off of the bed and drew his sword in one fluid motion, slicing at the empty air.

The drapes fluttered in the breeze, and there was no indication that anyone had been in the room with them at all. Lindir had sat up and drawn a short hunting dagger the moment he had become aware of the threat. Thranduil turned and looked at him, a look of distaste on his face.

"Hasn't anyone taught him manners?" he muttered, going over to the bed and inspecting the dagger from its position in the pole.

When Elrond strode into his room, he launched his sword at the elf Lord. Elrond ducked and the sword impaled the wood wall behind him, humming with the force of Thranduil's throw. "Rhaich," Elrond cursed, looking at the elf king. "What merits throwing a sword at me, Thranduil? Are your accommodations not to your liking?" He quickly recovered his cool and straightened his tunic and cleared his throat.

Thranduil smirked. He had just gotten a reaction out of Elrond, which was a feat indeed. The elf lord surveyed the room, noticing Lindir on the bed. His eyes flashed with fury for a moment before he turned to look back at Thranduil.

Thranduil felt another flash of satisfaction as Lindir quickly sat the rest of the way up and straightened his tunic, clasping it once more. _I can still get to you, Elrond,_ he thought with satisfaction. It amused him to consider all that would be running through Elrond's mind at this moment.

Then, Thranduil realized that he was gloating more than he should be at the moment, and yanked the dagger out of the wall. It was a fine blade and its shape was familiar, as were the markings on it. "Why, Elrond, I believe this is one of your guards'."

Elrond shook himself out of his seething anger and stomped over to where Thranduil was twirling the dagger. "Give it here," he said, trying to take it from Thranduil, who held it above Elrond's reach. The elf lord felt like a child, reaching for it above Thranduil's head, so he simply stepped back and crossed his arms, seething even more. He would _kill_ the king before the night was over.

"Tell me, dear Elrond, who in your guard would want me dead?" Thranduil asked, throwing the knife onto the bed. Lindir had stood up and was positioned beside Elrond, who looked as if he were trying to hold onto his sanity and failing.

"I can think of many," he said smoothly. "But none in my guard. Thank the Valar you haven't had the chance to get to them yet."

Thranduil turned and glanced at Elrond, before raising an eyebrow. "You wound me," he said, placing a melodramatic hand to his chest.

"If I was attempting to wound you," Elrond said, his lips thinning. "I would have drawn my own blade and sliced your pretty throat with it."

Thranduil tisked. "Now, now, Elrond. You do not want anyone else to hear you making threats." He began pacing, looking at the balcony, thinking. "The elf would have had to have access to the gardens below, which could be anyone." He paused in his pacing. "Did you call my throat pretty?"

Elrond winced and came to stand at the balcony. He most definitely had, but Thranduil didn't need to know that he had indeed said that his throat was pretty and believed it wholeheartedly. "I recall no such thing. I believe your vanity has encroached upon us once again and caused you to mishear my words. They would have been able to climb four stories, so your former observation would be incorrect." he continued without missing a beat. "Which narrows it down a bit, but not to any of my guards." He leaned against the balcony and looked back at the King. "Who wants you dead, Thranduil?"

Thranduil laughed, a soft, mocking sound. "Who does not want me dead, Elrond? I believe that will be the smaller group."

"Aye, I suppose you are right," Elrond mused. "Kings and Lords have many enemies. It's a pity your people do not like you more." Thranduil resumed pacing instead of answering. They were all silent for a bit, and when no new revelations presented themselves, Elrond sighed and drew himself away from the balcony. "I will find out everything that I can." As Thranduil opened his mouth, Elrond held up a hand. "Not for your sake," he said acidly. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"Of course it isn't for my sake, you fool." he snapped. "I was simply offering assistance before you so unkindly cut me off." He gave Elrond a pointed look, which the elf lord chose to ignore.

"Thank you, but I can manage quite well on my own, since it is my guardsmen and Imladris we are talking about," Elrond said, picking up the dagger from the bed. Thranduil looked ready to protest, but Elrond cut him a hard look and he fell silent.

"Very well," he said and sighed. "Though I will do some digging into it myself." At Elrond's look, he sighed again. "You cannot stop me, dear Elrond. It was I who had a dagger thrown at their head."

"Either your assassin has very poor aim, or it was a warning. I would not say that the dagger was thrown at your head, Thranduil, more at your general vicinity."

"Technicalities, Elrond. I never knew you to be so picky."

Elrond looked over at him with a countenance that spoke of great, deliberate patience. It was reflected in his voice as he said, "I trust your guards will do an adequate job of their job tonight," he said. "I will not impose on you any longer. Come, Lindir." He walked from the room, pausing only to tap Thranduil's sword, which was still in the wall. "Be careful where you stick your sword," he called as they left the King's chambers. Thranduil snorted and muttered,

"When have I ever?"

00800

Elrond was seething silently as he left Thranduil's rooms, Lindir following him like a shadow. The elf was quiet and he seemed to be unharmed, but Elrond knew fully well what Thranduil had been doing to him before the dagger was thrown at him. _For Eru's sake, can the elf not keep himself in his pants? And his hands out of other's pants?_

He turned to the elf, who had his eyes on the floor. His face was unreadable. Elrond paused and caught the elf by the arm. "Lindir," he began. Lindir didn't look up at him and Elrond grabbed his chin, forcing his face up so that he could look at it. There were no marks on his neck and his lips had not been kissed as far as Elrond could tell, for they were not swollen. Every other clasp save the three at his throat were neat and orderly. _Of course, the answer is no. _

Lindir looked down. "Do not worry, my lord, King Thranduil did not do anything to me."

"But he would have. If his life had not been threatened," Elrond insisted, softening his grip on the elf's chin after he made a small noise of pain.

Lindir looked up in confusion. "No, my lord, he stopped. It was as if he had lost himself for a few moments, and then remembered who I was."

Elrond let go of Lindir's chin and spun around. "Too many cups of wine," he muttered. "The fool." He turned back to Lindir, who had a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. "What did he do?"

Lindir shrugged and lifted his own hand to his face and stroked it down one cheek and slid it under his tunic. Elrond turned away again, bile rising in his throat. Thranduil should not have touched him like that; it was improper and utterly mortifying for both Lindir and himself. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I should not have sent you with him without another person. It seems that our King gets a bit physical when he consumes too much wine."

"Do not worry, my lord. As I said, he stopped after a few moments. After…"

Elrond glanced over his shoulder. "After what?" Lindir swallowed, looking lost. "For Eru's sake, Lindir. Spit it out." Lindir went a deeper shade of pink, and then red.

"After he said your name."

_My name?_ Elrond thought blankly for a few moments. He blinked several times. "What on Arda…" he shook his head. "Are you certain?" Lindir nodded once, a quick jerk of his head. Elrond sighed and put a hand to his face. "Too many cups of wine, indeed," he said.

"My Lord? Do you not feel well?"

"Nay, I am fine. Go to my study, Lindir," he began, handing the elf the knife. "Call upon my other advisors to help look for the engravings on this blade. I have seen the pattern before, but I cannot recall where. I will join you with books shortly."

Lindir nodded, bowed and hurried quickly down the hall. Now that Elrond had _finally_ gotten a chance to look at the blade, he had seen the engraving. It was a simple design set into the silver handle, a design that just escaped the grasp of his memory. He would need to figure it out before the assassin struck again.

Assassin, for that would be the only person to be able to get past Elrond's guards unseen. There was still a lot to be learned this night, a lot to figure out.

_Yes, _Elrond mused. _This night is far from over. _

Whew, done with the first chapter! This kind of writing is hard! Geez, I'm so used to writing more dramatic and serious stuff, so tell me if I have utterly failed at bringing humor into this story and I will… I don't know, go back and fix everything perhaps.

Has anyone else ever wondered what on earth the jewels or pure starlight were doing in Erebor? Because I have, so I made up that little thing. And please, tell me what Thranduil rides, because I haven't the slightest clue. An elk? Or moose? Or caribou? Ugh.

Whatever. Oh, and Le hannon means thank you in Sindarin. I probably won't use as much of it as I did in my last fanfic This is No Mere Ranger, but I may use some, so bear with me.

Thanks for reading, please review and all of that pizzaz! I love to hear your comments and what you thought about my writing and/or story idea. Also, please feel free to let me know if I've messed something up, because I'd love to be able to fix it!

Novaer!


	2. Chapter 2

It's Elementary, My Dear Thranduil Chapter 2

Thanks for the views and everything, guys! Sorry it's been so long! But here's the second chapter, so enjoy.

Thanks, Sylvie for the review! Yeah, it was pretty good to imagine her face!

The Fellowship1, I am glad that you enjoyed it! I hope that you like this chapter as well!

Chapter 2: Of Knife Throwing and Library Flings

Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel looked up as Elrond entered his study. The half elf lord looked exceptionally flustered, with two spots of color high on his cheeks. Everything else was unnaturally pale; even his lips were absolutely bloodless.

"My Lord," Glorfindel began, setting down the scroll he had been reading. "What ails you?" It was very rare that Elrond looked _flustered_ of all things. Elrond shook his head and swept quickly past them and sat down in his chair, pulling his robes quickly over his lap.

The three elves exchanged confused glances. Elrond had gone to the library to pick some books up, but he had returned empty-handed, looking very harried. "My Lord," Lindir ventured after a few strained moments of silence. Elrond's gaze snapped to his, and Lindir noticed that Elrond's grey eyes were darker than usual, and sparked with something akin to desire. Lindir swallowed. "Where are the books?"

Elrond's eyes clouded with confusion. "Books?"

Glorfindel glanced over at Erestor, the question of _what in the world is wrong with him? wr_itten plainly on his face. Erestor shook his head and frowned in response to the golden-haired advisor's silent question. "Aye," Lindir said tentatively. "You spoke of going to the library to fetch books. To find the meaning of this symbol." He held up the dagger, which Elrond stared at quite blankly for several long moments. "In the hall," he added.

"Oh," Elrond eloquently managed. He floundered, attempting to regain his train of thought. "I have not been there as of the present time." The lie was so blatantly stated in his words that the advisors shared confused looks again, but no one dared to question his statement. Elrond was in such a _strange_ mood, one that none of them had ever seen him in before.

"Should… one of us go to the library? You look as if you need some rest, My Lord," Erestor said tentatively, stepping up to stand beside Lindir.

Elrond's gaze snapped to him, burning with an intensity that Erestor had never seen before, save maybe during the heat of battle. "No!" the half elf lord all but shouted, and each of his advisors flinched. Elrond was a fair and just leader, but his violent side was terrifying to behold. Elrond took a deep breath in. "I will retrieve them in a bit," he said in a softer, more apologetic voice. Glorfindel, who had gripped the chair he was standing behind with a white-knuckled grip, slowly released his hold. He visibly relaxed and let out a breath. Elrond did not seem to notice the blond's discomfort, but placed a hand on his forehead, trying to will away the blush that was staining his cheeks.

He had good reason indeed not to go into the library for several minutes, for a certain blond king would still be there.

Elrond was not sure if he could ever tell anyone of what he had seen transpire in the library. He had entered and gone straight to the shelf he needed, because it was his library, and one should not have to announce themselves when they enter a room that they own, after all. However, he had heard Thranduil's voice only a few aisles down. He had immediately abandoned his task and crept down the aisle to see what the elf king was doing in his library.

Without his consent, mind you, but the elf king seemed to think that he answered to no one, even if it happened to be common courtesy to ask the owner of a library for permission before entering. If Thranduil was doing this to get on his nerves…

Imagine Elrond's surprise when he had found Thranduil half draped over Elrond's favorite reading table, dark midnight outer cloak spread over it like a table cloth, his blond haired assistant standing next to him, head bowed. Elrond had been preparing to declare himself and was conjuring up the correct countenance that would let Thranduil know of his disapproval while still remaining thoroughly unattached, when Thranduil had spoken. His voice had been different, a low, seductive purr that made chills run down Elrond's spine like fingers. It was a completely different tone than the distant, icy cold tone he had used with Elrond the entire night.

"You serve me, do you not, Algaron?"

Algaron's hands were trembling slightly, just enough for Elrond to notice from his vantage point, as he reached up to tuck an errant strand of flaxen hair behind a delicately pointed ear. "Aye, my lord," he said. His voice was steadier than his hand.

"Then show me your loyalty." Thranduil's voice had dropped an octave, becoming an almost primal, velvety purr. He had removed his crown, the hawthorn contraption beside him on the desk. He looked no less imposing without it on, but perhaps that was only because of the tone of his voice. He did look shorter, as the crown gave his already preposterous height another six or so inches, and perhaps a bit younger as well. Elrond drew closer to the book case as Algaron kneeled in front of Thranduil.

At first, Elrond simply thought that the blond haired elf was bowing to the King of Mirkwood, but after a moment, he reached out and pushed Thranduil's outer tunic aside, exposing tight black trousers. Tight enough that Elrond could see the quite obvious bulge. He felt his cheeks flame, but he couldn't—didn't want to—look away, as was decent. Algaron began working at the lacings of the trousers, his fingers still shaking. Thranduil made a noise of impatience deep in his throat, in that same guttural, primal tone that sent more shivers down Elrond's spine. The King joined his advisor in the task of unlacing his breeches, his own fingers trembling just a bit. However, Elrond knew that it was from anticipation, while he was unsure if Algaron's shaking fingers were from that same emotion or another; fear.

Elrond was speechless as the blond elf leaned forward and began—Elrond pulled back around the corner of the shelf fast enough for it to cause a disturbance in the air. He closed his eyes and wished the image that he had just seen from his mind, but he knew that he would never fully eliminate it from his brain. The lewd sucking and licking noises and soft sounds issuing from Thranduil's throat were not helping his cause in the least.

What in the name of the Valar were they doing here in the library? Could they not retire to their rooms and continue? And on his favorite reading table of all places? The nerve the elf king had. Elrond was very close, so very close, to stalking out of his hiding place and slamming his fists on the table, and demanding an explanation. The surprise on Thranduil's face would certainly be something to see, but something held him back. A small devil made of the wine he had consumed and curiosity. What did Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, look like in the throes of passion?

And his body was another matter. Upon hearing the occasional soft moans that accompanied those wet, sucking sounds, all of the heat in his body rushed downwards and concentrated in his groin. This sudden change in his body caused Elrond to draw in a sharp breath. _Raiches,_ he thought acidly. Thranduil should not affect him, not at all and most definitely not in this way. _Lovely. _He did not want to look around the corner, for he knew he would never be able to forget the sight of the beautiful king. But that little nudge, fed by the wine and his own cursed curiosity caused him to creep to the edge of the bookcase and peer around it.

He drew another sharp breath in once he laid his eyes upon the elf. The elf king's head was tilted back, long blond hair sliding like water over one shoulder. Those exquisite eyes were closed and his lips were parted, ever so slightly.

"Harder," Thranduil breathed. "You have teeth, use them" To hear the king's voice so breathless and emotional made the fire in Elrond's groin strengthen. To Elrond's dismay, the situation that he had previously had under control faltered, and he became hard. _What in Eru Iluvitar?_ He growled inwardly, trying his best to fight it. Thranduil made another noise and his brilliantly blue eyes opened, dark with lust and pleasure. "Aye," he murmured, pulling the elf closer to him. "Like that, my lovely. You are doing beautifully."

Algaron was still trembling, Elrond could see the slight tremors running down his back, but it was obviously not affecting his ability to perform, from the look on Thranduil's face, and the sounds that were almost dragged out of him without his consent. Elrond clamped his jaw down on his own sound of pleasured pain as he watched the elf king stiffen and gasp for breath. Then, Thranduil, too was trembling as waves of pleasure wracked his body.

His eyes opened wide and fell straight onto Elrond's. Thranduil made no move to cover his nakedness, or to move. Instead, he simply murmured, "Elrond," in a low, husky, sex-drenched voice that made Elrond's already aching body ache even more. He ached to have that same voice whispering his name over bare flesh, lips barely brushing taut skin and straining muscle.

Algaron whipped around, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth quickly. The shame of being caught was obvious in his eyes, and Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers curling in his hair to calm him. However, he did not look down, just held Elrond's gaze for several long heartbeats, the pure _lust_ in his eyes making Elrond's head spin. Then, his gaze left Elrond's and ran slowly, languidly down his body, catching on the hot, wanting part of him and flicking back up to his eyes once more.

They were both caught like that for several heartbeats, in which Elrond had to wrench himself away from that lust, from answering the call in Thranduil's eyes, the call for him, _come be mine, Elrond._ The half elf remembered himself and blushed a deep crimson that must have reached the points of his ears, before whipping around the corner of the bookshelf again, this time fleeing from the library and flinging himself into the study.

He had sat down quickly in an attempt to avoid his advisors seeing the quite painful bulge in his pants, and tried to will the overwhelming waves of lust to pass. Thus he sat, aching in places he hadn't for years and trying to come to terms with what had just happened and why he had responded the way he had.

"I have consumed too much wine," he growled, trying to calm his body. It still remembered Thranduil's heated gaze, and it wasn't likely that it would forget the pure _lust_ in his eyes. Elrond took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to his advisors, all of which were watching him warily. He attempted to shift to turn to face them fully without having to crane his neck, but stopped as his _ahem_ problem twanged. He gripped the chair hard enough for it to hurt him and attempted to stifle the sound of his discomfort. He failed spectacularly.

"My Lord?" Lindir asked, crouching down beside him. "What ails you?" he repeated. The position was too much like what Thranduil had put Algaron in. Elrond stood quickly and turned away.

"I am fine," he said to the wall. "Perhaps… we could discuss this in the morning. I am afraid I have drank too much wine and my brain has become addled by it."

Lindir nodded, though Elrond could not see him. "Of course, my lord. Would you like assistance to your room?"

"No," Elrond said, his voice exceptionally pained. "I am quite certain I remember my way to my own room."

Lindir swallowed and glanced back towards the other two advisors for help. They both shrugged helplessly. They certainly had never seen Elrond in this kind of state. Lindir sighed. "I had not meant to imply…"

"Of course you did not," Elrond said, cutting the elf off. "Thank you for your offer, but I can find my way. Go and rest. Today has been taxing and all of you deserve a long rest. Thranduil," he said, his voice shook on the name, and Elrond cursed himself. "Thranduil," he repeated and this time it seemed like any other word in the sentence. "Will have to wait until tomorrow."

Glorfindel and Erestor left first, murmuring a quiet goodnight to their lord, and exchanging whispered propositions of what was bothering him, even before they were out of ear shot. Lindir lingered a bit longer, pouring a cup of Elrond's favorite tea and pushing it into his hand. "To calm you," he murmured and gave Elrond a sweet smile, the kind that only Lindir was capable of.

Elrond smiled back. "Le hannon," he murmured. Lindir bowed slightly, just a slight inclination of his head, and left, shutting the study door quietly behind him. Elrond let out a deep breath and went to sit back at his desk, attempting to ignore the throbbing pleasure-pain between his legs. Surely his arousal would leave if he simply sat here and ignored it, wouldn't it?

After five long, painful minutes, Elrond sighed yet again. He had partaken in entirely too much wine for his own good, and Thranduil had driven him to it. Curse the elf for being so irritating. _So beautiful_. NO. Elrond would not think about that. It would lead him down a very dangerous path. But this desire was going nowhere, and he had to do something. He knew he would not get a heartbeat of sleep if he left himself like this.

Elrond had never been one for self-pleasure, and had only done it in times of great need, such as this very situation, and he had not even dared to consider it after Celebrian had sailed to the Undying Lands. However, perhaps Elrond could get everything he had seen and felt out of his system by pleasuring himself, just this once.

He sighed once more, a quick, frustrated release of breath and gave into the temptation. He unlaced his trousers. So great was his need that, within a few strokes, the pleasure wracked his body and completely took over all of his senses.

He hardly noticed when Thranduil's name slipped from his lips in the throes of passion.

00800

"This dagger did not come from Imladris," Elrond concluded, throwing the blade onto the table. It skidded across the polished wood and stopped only a moment from slicing into Thranduil's hand. The elf king did not flinch, simply stared at the dagger and quirked his lips slightly up in a smile. "In fact," Elrond continued, purposely ignoring Thranduil. "It is not even of Elvish make." Now, he gave Thranduil's general direction a pointed glance, though he did not meet his gaze. He was most definitely pretending that he was not affected.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He swirled his wine in its goblet, looking every inch the arrogant elven King he was famed to be. And curse him for being able to stomach the drink after consuming pints of it last night. Elrond grew slightly sick every time he laid eyes upon the stuff. "And tell me, my dear Elrond," he said, his voice exceptionally mocking. "How in the name of the Valar did you come to this conclusion?"

Elrond raised an eyebrow and sat forward in his chair, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers. He met Thranduil's gaze for the first time that morning after his first initial glance, which had made him go red as he remembered what he had seen and what he had done the previous night. This time, though, he held the elf king's gaze steadily and did not flinch. "Why, it is elementary, my dear Thranduil," he said. The elf's azure eyes held his for several moments, expressionless. It was a silent challenge, to see who would look away first. Who would lose their nerve and give into the humming tension that crackled between them.

Thranduil surprised Elrond when his eyes flickered with some dark emotion and then he looked down at his hands._ Well_, Elrond thought, pleased. _That certainly was not difficult. _"Enlighten me, Lord of Imladris, for you are much wiser than I, or so many people say." He glanced up once more, that icily arrogant mask in place once more. For a few heartbeats, his eyes had been almost troubled, churning with an emotion that Elrond could not quite place.

The four advisors in the room exchanged glanced. Algaron knew fully well what was going on, and had flushed a deep crimson each and every time Elrond laid eyes upon him, but Glorfindel, Lindir and Erestor had no idea what the tension was caused by. They had tried to ease the tension at first by providing food and drink, but even Elrond was sipping his usual calming tea, he remained stiff and tense. Lindir had asked Glorfindel and Erestor in a low tone if they had figured out what had happened.

Glorfindel had shaken his head, but Erestor had beckoned Lindir closer and said, "It has something to do with Thranduil. Lindir had nodded and Erestor had continued. "And Algaron knows something, but he will not speak of it." Lindir glanced back at Thranduil's advisor, who was looking down at his feet, seemingly lost in thought.

"Why not?" Lindir asked, turning back to the dark-haired councilor.

Erestor shrugged. "I know not." He had glanced around, looking between Thranduil and Elrond. "You could ask him."

Lindir blinked. "Me?"

"Aye, you," Erestor said, a bit impatiently.

"Why?" Lindir asked. He was not usually their first choice for anything. Both elves were much older and skilled, and planned their own pranks and quests for knowledge without including him. He may have been Elrond's chief advisor, but he was still not equal to either the Balrog-slayer Glorfindel or the beautiful Erestor.

Erestor shrugged. "You are similar in position to him and will be able to speak with him more easily. You also have the same temperament."

"We do not," Lindir said indignantly, looking over at the elf, who was still acting timid. Erestor raised an eyebrow and Lindir subsided. He truly was not a great warrior like Glorfindel or as confident as Erestor, but preferred his books and the company of the garden more than anyone else's. He scowled. "You could talk to him."

"I already have, and he told me nothing," Erestor said.

"There you have it," Lindir said, satisfied.

Erestor raised an eyebrow again. "Are you not curious to see what has happened, Lindir?"

"Of course I am," Lindir said. Erestor was silent, the lack of words a prompt enough for the elf. "Very well," he said, irritated. "I will talk to Algaron." Thus, he was tasked with getting closer to Thranduil's closest advisor.

It began with him slowly inching towards the blond haired Silvian elf, as Elrond and Thranduil continued to verbally spar with each other.

"My," Elrond said mildly. He leaned back slightly, stretching his sore muscles. Some sword fighting would do him good, allow him to loosen his tense muscles. "I am surprised that you would allow your subjects to speak of you thus."

He looked away as, unbidden, a memory of last night encroached upon his peace of mind. _"Then show me your loyalty."_ Those had not been the words of a reprimand, or even a suggestion. They had been a command. He had heard of the king's quick temper and ruthless punishments. He would not allow his subjects to speak of him thus. It was very likely that the Eldeh that Thranduil had spoken of were missing a few fingers. Or perhaps their head. It depended on the day with Thranduil, and his mercurial moods.

Thranduil smiled coolly. "I do not." He confirmed Elrond's suspicions with those three words. They spoke volumes, and held danger that sent shivers down Elrond's spine despite himself. He did not want to find himself on the wrong side of this elf. To cover his discomfort, Elrond leaned backwards and picked up the dagger once more. "What does your superior wisdom have to say?"

"This dagger," Elrond began, holding the weapon out. "Is not of Elvish make," he repeated. He ran his fingers down the dagger, along the engraved hilt. "This is not the metal that comes from any of the elven cities and if my eyes are not deceiving me, this dagger comes from the city of kings. The crest would make sense if it came from there."

Thranduil leaned forward, looking genuinely interesting for the first time since he had entered the room. "Made in the smithy of man?"

"Aye." Elrond flipped it up into the air once, catching it neatly by its handle once again. The move was practiced, sure and confident. The elf lord did not doubt his ability to handle a weapon properly, not even a bit. "However, it was fashioned for an elf."

Thranduil allowed a slight frown to slip over his face. "What would and elf want with a man's blade?"

"The ability to turn our attention to the men and take the suspicion off of the elves, I suspect," Elrond said immediately.

"Or could it have been a man?"

Elrond frowned. "That is definitely possible. Not likely, however."

"It is a blade of man. Why would it not be a man?" Thranduil leaned forward and laced his fingers together, looking at Elrond with challenge in his gaze. Elrond could feel it pounding against his skin like an invisible wave. Elrond inwardly rolled his eyes but gave Thranduil's general direction a patient smile.

"There are not many men who come to Imladris. We do not often trade with them as you do with Laketown and the dwarves. I would know if a man was inside of the protection of Imladris." He put a hand to his chest. "Men have heavier footsteps than elves, and I would be able to feel their footsteps upon the soil of my land."

Thranduil's eyes were unreadable in the brief glance Elrond allowed himself to steal. Like every elf lord or lady in Arda, Elrond had some powers that he did not. Knowing who inhabited his land was something Thranduil had never been able to fathom; and he was thankful that he could not. Since Greenwood had become Mirkwood, the forest had been… sick for a lack of a better word, and try as he might, Thranduil had not been able to heal it.

Elrond waited for the king to come back with another objection, and raised an eyebrow when he failed to. He could feel Thranduil's eyes burning into his body, but he dared not look at the elf, not when he could _feel_ the intensity of his gaze. Instead, he watched Lindir, who was slowly inching towards Algaron. _What in the name of the Valar is he doing?_ Lindir glanced up and met Elrond's questioning gaze. He blushed and ceased moving, glancing over at Erestor and Glorfindel. Elrond shook his head and looked back down at the blade in his hand.

"I know that you do not trust my judgment, but I can assure you, it is sound."

"I beg to differ," Thranduil said coolly, simply to get the elf to look at him. Elrond was avoiding his gaze as if his life depended on it.

Elrond glanced up, his eyes glittering with some dark emotion, and he opened his mouth. Thranduil braced himself for the scathing words that would pour from them, but Elrond blinked and shut his mouth. Thranduil let out a breath and leaned back. He had gotten _this _close to seeing real emotion in Elrond's eyes for the first time of the day. The half elf took a deep breath in and spoke again, his voice exceptionally calm. Should that rub Thranduil the wrong way as much as it did? "Do you know of a way to prove the origin of this dagger, Thranduil?" He gave the elf king a smile that spoke volumes.

_Test me all you want,_ Thranduil nearly said, but stopped himself, and returned a chilling smile. "And if I do?"

"Then it would be in both of our interests to employ it," Elrond said patently. "Do not be orc-headed, Thranduil. It would be in both of our interests to learn who was attempting to kill you. If only to get the suspicion off of me. Since you seem oh so intent on blaming it on anyone and everyone residing in Imladris."

"Oh, that stung, Dear Elrond," Thranduil said, putting a hand to his chest melodramatically. "Why do you insult me thus?"

"Do you or do you not?" Elrond nearly snapped. He was tiring of this game, and wanted to get this over as quickly as he could.

Thranduil cocked his head to the side, white-flaxen hair sliding over his shoulder like water. "Aye," he said after a moment, drawing the word out. "I know of a way to track the dagger and to find the maker of the blade."

Elrond sighed inwardly. He was going to make Elrond ask for his assistance. Typical, stubborn, _beautiful_ elf. He truly did look like a king in this early dawn light, which did not have the good graces to strip the color of his eyes away from him, as it did to everything else. His skin was milk-pale, as was his hair, his dark cloak almost black. Elrond realized that he was staring and dragged his gaze away swiftly. He shoved the pang of—what, exactly?—deep down inside of himself and attempted to pretend that it was not there. "What do you require from me for this?" he asked, leaning his forehead on one hand in an attempt to contain the emotions that were running rampant through him. After a moment, he glanced up, trying to mask these wicked, wicked feelings.

"You," Thranduil said. It was more of the purr from last night, low and seductive. Elrond swallowed and made his face utterly blank, before looking down at the elf king. Upon seeing no reaction, Thranduil sighed. seductive. Elrond swallowed and made his face utterly blank, before looking down at the elf king. Upon seeing no reaction, Thranduil sighed. _You're no fun_, he thought, but said nothing out loud. He tightened his lips into a purse before speaking again. "Your power," he elaborated after a few heartbeats, in which the tension in the room increased tenfold. "And the dagger. I have not enough power at my disposal in Imladris to complete this by myself."

"That is all?" Elrond asked, surprised. Most magic that was done needed more than simply power and the object, but perhaps Silvian elves did it differently. Elrond stood after Thranduil nodded his head once in affirmation. "Where do we go?"

"Why not to the library?" Thranduil said. The suggestion was innocent enough, but Elrond saw the glimmer of mischief in Thranduil's eyes.

"I believe the balcony will suffice," Elrond managed to get out. He turned away from Thranduil and quickly went out onto the balcony. Thranduil got up and followed the elf, and he could not help the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Elrond was not completely immune, after all. He could still push his buttons and get underneath his skin. The elf had not forgotten what he had seen last night while under the sway of the wine; Thranduil was positive now. He had been unsure but now he knew. And Thranduil remembered the desire he had seen in the elf lord's eyes.

_Oh, I should have come to Imladris sooner,_ he thought as he followed Elrond onto the balcony. _This is too much fun. _


End file.
